Dalamar and the Tower of High Sorcery
by tanyart
Summary: Raistlin is seeking a worthy apprentice to take under his wing. Oh dear gods, how will everyone’s favorite dark elf go against some of the worst beings known to fanfiction? Charlie and the Chocolate Factory swing.
1. A Major Disturbance

**Disclaimer:** I don't even own the computer I'm using to type this. 

**A/N:** My take on how Mister Majere got his apprentice. Parodies and hidden(?) rants will ensue. Enjoy if you must. In fact, I suggest you do!

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Chapter One: A Major Disturbance

Naturally, the world is filled with many wonders. However, it is all in the matter of perspective of the viewers. In example, the birth of a baby to the parents is a marvelous blessing while from the older sibling of the baby, it is simply a chance for jealous emotions to fester and that, also, it's just disgusting. The blood and all. Needless to say, opinions are greatly needed to measure the greatness of something great.

Except for Raistlin, of course.

Or, to be more accurate, his actions. There was no doubt in all of Krynn that the feat he was about to preform would be the most fantastic, radical, and extreme undertaking known to man, animal, dragon, kender, elf... etc. The whole world was wowed and no one dared to utter a complaint or scoff at the brilliant letters that formed in the sky, whether it be in night or daylight, depending on where one was viewing the spectacular scene in the world..

_ATTENTION BEINGS OF KRYNN. I, RAISTLIN MAJERE, HAVE TAMPERED WITH THE MAGIC OF THIS WORLD, COMPLIMENTS OF SOLINARI, LUNITARI, AND NUITARI. AS OF NOW, MY TOWER IS OPEN FOR THE FIVE (UN?)-FORTUNATE VISITORS, ONE OF WHICH WILL RECEIVE AN ADDITIONAL HONORABLE REWARD. THOSE FIVE WILL BE SELECTED AT RANDOM. AS OF NOW, MAGIC WILL CONTINUE TO PROPERLY WORK WITH THE EXCEPTION OF FIVE CORRESPONDING SPELLS (INCLUDING MAGICAL ITEMS AS WELL). THESE FIVE SPELLS WILL ACTIVATE A PERSONAL MESSAGE FROM ME IN THE FORM OF A GOLDEN PLATE. FROM THERE, I WILL EXPLAIN SPECIFIC DIRECTIONS FOR YOU TO TAKE TO ACCESS MY TOWER. MAY THE GODS BE WITH YOU!_

And in no time at all, Raistlin had everyone in an uproar. Of course, there might have been a few difficulties within the respective nations that did not read Common, such as the barbarian tribes, bless them.

"I see an exclamation mark at the end of it. Must be terribly important," spoke Wingtip in his guttural and primitive language. The barbarian glanced up at the night sky in awe, but still minded the pointy spear he was busy sharpening. His other barbarian friend gave a grunt as he bit into a roasted field mouse.

"It appears urgent. I suppose we ought to capture a linguist of this strange language and have them interpret this aerial message," answered Wingtip's companion, chewing thoughtfully as grease dribbled down his unshaven chin.

"Ah, excellent idea," exclaimed Wingtip, getting up to his feet and dusting off his loincloth. His partner followed in suit and the two barbarians headed off.

However, as you can see, the message was clear since, after all, giant words in bold capital letters appearing in the sky shouldn't be too ordinary. Those that could not read, asked. Within five standard hours, everyone from the highest cast of nobility to the sticking caves of gully dwarves knew of Raistlin's wonderful announcement.

Wonderful, you asked? Why yes. Observe.

"To see the Raistlin Majere... and then see the inside of his tower?" a black robed murmured, arcing his magical dagger, "That would be an honor I would most certainly enjoy." The white robed craned his neck, not only to take a good look at the letter-filled sky, but to avoid getting his head sliced off as he brought down his wooden staff to parry the black robed's attack. He drew into his pouch, tossing a few rose petals into the air before muttering a spell.

"I agree," said the servant of Solinari, "The Tower of High Sorcery is what I'm actually interested in but- ...oh dear."

The black robed collapsed, having been hit by the white robed's sleep spell. The evil wizard was now slumbering peacefully. His white counterpart shrugged, merely stepping over the body. The mage walked over to a pretty young woman who was magically chained up to a wall.

"Ah, I have also heard of this Raistlin," chimed the maiden in distress to her rescuer, "This Majere was said to be quite the charmer." The white robed quirked a brow while he worked his magic to undo the spirit ropes.

"How so, my dear?"

The lady paused daintily, tilting her lovely head to the side in contemplation.

"You know, I find evil to be very sexy," she replied, nonchalantly, "I'm guessing it's all the black and mysterious demeanor. In fact, I wouldn't mind finding a golden plate myself."

The white robed looked upset, suddenly thinking that his rescue might have been not needed. Coming to the conclusion that his love might be happier living under the slavery of his arch-nemesis, the poor sod magiked himself away, vowing to find Raistlin's golden plate to learn the ways of evilness to woo his fair lady (who was still chained up to the wall).

As sudden changes of motives occurred everywhere, Krynn was metaphorically turned upside-down. The most sweetest of people now fought over magical items, trying in vain to activate the Golden Plate Spell. The evil people, having been surprised by the viciousness, redoubled their evil efforts. All the wizards gave the simplest excuses to use their spells such as levitating their spoon to their mouth, or teleporting to an area that could have been easily reached within ten steps.

All of it lined up to a common goal... to find Raistlin's golden plates.

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End Chp. 

_Reviews are yummy. Constructive criticisms are healthy. Flames just give me gas and heart burn. Please and thank you!_


	2. Things are No Good

**Disclaimer:** I don't even own the computer I'm using to type this.

**A/N:** Sorry for the abrupt chapters, I swear it will all come together soon.

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Chapter Two: Things are No Good

Dalamar Argent stood up, his aching back instantly knotting up. The exile groaned, throwing the washing rag on the soapy floor with a grimace. Sweat dampened his long hair, sticking to his forehead and neck. Dalamar was tempted to tie it up but the risk of having the patrons of this notorious bar see his pointed ears... well... he would rather not go through the trouble of causing fight... again.

"Argent, that floor ain't going to any cleaner with you just standing there!"

The woman that seemed to be made entirely out of lard glowered at Dalamar from across the room. Several customers paused to look, casting curious glances from the sullen servant to the inn mistress. The dark elf returned the glare, getting the satisfaction of having the fat lady look away first. Nevertheless, it was only a small victory for Dalamar, who promptly kneeled down and started to scrub the dirty floor. It was a wonder how he got into this humiliating position in the first place.

Oh. Yes. He just remembered.

A few moons ago, Dalamar had provoked a man in a violent stupor with a single innocent glance. It didn't help that the man was drunk and very convinced that the elf was of the opposite gender. The end result was a few burnt tables, legless chairs, three tankards of spilt ale, and a brand new sky roof. Unfortunately, the owner of said sky roof inn didn't take too kindly to this new addition and of course, blamed the mage. If it weren't for the fact that Dalamar had ran out of sulfur at the time, he would've been free from paying for the damages. Alas, this wasn't the case because the poor mage was worn out and didn't fare too well against a furious obessed woman with a broom.

Our protagonist was forced into a deal whereas he'd work off his immense dept by doing tedious chores that people normally wouldn't do in their spare time. Again, without his spell ingredients, the elf was powerless for the fat woman was surprisingly clever, using a flawless trap of throwing herself upon the dark elf and pinning him onto the floor with rapid succession. No mercy wasn't an option if Dalamar didn't want to end up as a living pancake. It was obvious that he wanted to keep his three-dimensional proportions.

And so Dalamar was stuck in some forsaken area, smack dab between Solace and his destination, the Tower of Wayreth. The Inn was particularly prone to taking in wizards, being so close to a magical hot spot. All the better for Dalamar who had to learn to control the red pigments of his cheeks to avoid dying on the spot from his disgraceful position. He even went so far to exchange his robes for a pair of tattered trousers and a ratty shirt. However, it didn't take the dark elf long to find the benefits of it. Nothing more than a lowly worker in the eyes of the visiting wizards, they didn't suspect the deft hands of the quiet waiter swiping bits of spell components from their pouches. Slowly, Dalamar began to accumulate a precious collection of odds and ends and even a pair of rings. He knew that his days of slavery were about to end. All he needed now was a few rose petals.

Dalamar hated when irony was applied negatively towards him. His irony consisted of a lovely rose bush growing in front of the kitchen's window, just out of his reach. The mistress of the inn kept a sharp eye on him. Dalamar wasn't allowed to leave the building and the cook had a foul mood with the same violent capacity as the fat lady, only with a knife instead of a broom. Dalamar wisely chose not to risk any important limbs for a few flowers.

So for now, he waited tables, cleaned floors, and slept upstairs in the attic of the inn. The days were normally droll, but Dalamar soon felt the gathered excitement that seemed to affect everyone. A group of mages were chatting at a table, barely able to contain their anxious voices from rising above the typical conversing level. In fact, everyone in the inn seemed to be talking about the same thing. Dalamar scooted his furious mopping area closer to the lively mages, sharp elven ears listening intently.

"-you don't say?" a man was saying with a skeptical expression to a woman dressed in white robes.

"I swear on Solinari's light," the woman spoke defensively, "Raistlin's Golden Plates are real! They say the first one has already been found. The Conclave went absolutely nuts about it."

Dalamar paused his scrubbing, having heard two things that he was extremely curious about. Raistlin was a given. Everyone wanted to know more about the archmage who's sudden rise in power right had taken everyone by surprise. Even more puzzling, instead of flaunting his power like how the usual big, bad wizards did, the golden eyed mage locked himself up in Palanthas' cursed tower. A good two years passed without so much of a peep from the infamous Majere and soon interest in him began to dwindle down. It was only recently that his popularity had took a decent spike up as week's events occurred.

Dalamar saw of a dark oil stain on the floor and contented himself by smothering the wet rag in that particular area. Meanwhile, the group of mages chatted on, speaking of the wonders of Raistlin... or his tower, depending on what each motive was.

"Well, who was it?" a black robed of undefinable gender growled from within the depths of his or her hood. He or she didn't seem to enjoy conversing much, but was naturally drawn into the discussion because of it's subject. Dalamar checked underneath the table as the black robed crossed his or her ankles, revealing a shapely leg.

"Human female," thought Dalamar, "Or male elf." His gaze dropped as the black robed's head turned suddenly. However, it was only a glare to the white robed.

"I wouldn't know," the white robed sighed, "But I've heard that she had not a drop of magic in her blood."

Dalamar held back a snort, but let out a sudden yelp as a booted foot pressed deeply into his hand. He looked up but only found that it was the inn's cook delivering mashed potatoes to the party of mages. Carelessly dropping the dish on the table, the cook gave a barking laugh. The mages all turned to face the cook as Dalamar squirmed to release his fingers. Though the cook was as skinny as a twig, his boot was slightly heeled and Dalamar's hand could only take so much.

"Hah," the cook scoffed, "It's probably some poor wrench with a sad history of some sort. They're always the ones who get lucky in these sort of things."

"Then they probably deserve it, don't you think?" said the female mage.

"Who says that Raistlin's 'additional' prize would be something good or bad?" the black robed's alto voice sneered.

"Yup," continued the cook, oblivious of the interruption, "Some lady with a sob story, automatically winning everyone's heart..."

"I don't think it's fair for you to assume that much so quickly," rebuked the man who had initially began the conversation. The cook only laughed, walking off and leaving the quiet servant boy to nurse his bruised fingers and the mages to shake their heads.

"You'll see, you'll see."

**o0o**

Miracle Shimmerheart dashed through the evergreen forest, her even breaths pumping her slim figure faster and faster with each step. She ran, obsidian hair flowing behind her like glossy steamers in the wind. Her meager rags flapped along side her, shredded by the forest's dense growth. Her only possession was a golden locket in the shape of an hourglass that belonged to her mother. Luckily, she was without a single scratch for the young woman was very lithe and graceful.

But yet she still tripped over some overgrown root that were usually common in forests. Miracle stumbled, rolling to the side. A pretty little cry escaped from her lips. The woman stay on the ground, her strength spent from running. Soon, her master would reach her. Miracle was a slave, but no longer. She was escaping. Today. Now.

"Oh girly," came the slurred speech of previously mentioned cruel master, "You can't escape..."

Miracle grimly got to her feet, wincing as she found out that her had twisted her ankle. The pain was sharp, but she didn't say anything. Flicking her long hair from her piercing emerald eyes, she faced her master. She could no longer run, but she still chose to fight instead. (Which didn't really make any sense, but for magic-movie purposes, we'll let that slide.)

"No! I'm never going to be your personal slave," said Miracle, her jeweled voice dropping splendors with each word she spoke, "I want to find my family and purpose in life to become somebody in this world."

So sweet was her voice that the ugly brute-master-man was dazed, but only for a moment. The man walked closer to her. Miracle did not back down. He snarled, entering the climax of our mini-drama, "You belong to me, girly!" He raised a hand to slap the bitch- I mean, Miracle.

Apparently, that was going to be a crucial mistake to his health. Miracle was scared and clasped her hand around her mother's locket. She wished she wasn't here, anywhere but here. The girl closed her eyes, awaiting her master's blow. But of course, it never came to contact with her, this being one boring part write out. The following has been sped up for tactical purposes.

The locket emitted a dazzling glow and started to shift it's golden shape. Quite soon, Miracle found herself no longer holding her mother's locket...

... but a thick golden dinner plate.

The master, who couldn't stop the momentum of his swinging hand, struck the plate, emitting quite a comical gong-like sound. He gave a monstrous yell and stumbled back. Miracle was as equally dumbfounded, though not so much from the pain.

"My gods, it's Raistlin's Golden Plate!" she cried, "Alas, good fortune has smiled upon me!"

"No!" came the master's diabolical scream as he fell to his knees. The word was elongated for drama's sake and echoed off the trees, scaring the Abyss out of most woodland creatures.

From here, I can safely say that Miracle escaped from the evil clutches of her slave master and probably would've went off to the Tower of High Sorcery hadn't been for a mysterious white-robed figure that came across her path.

"I have a proposition to make," said the stranger in friendly tones.

And so Miracle listened...

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End Chp. 

_Reviews are yummy. Constructive criticisms are healthy. Flames just give me gas and heart burn. Please and thank you!_


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